


the long road towards tomorrow

by anenko



Category: Elenium/Tamuli Series - Eddings
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Pre-Series, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-18
Updated: 2005-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anenko/pseuds/anenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Partings were a regular and unavoidable part of any Pandion's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the long road towards tomorrow

Night had laid claim to Cimmura some hours before, and it held the city tightly in its grasp still. The rain--having arrived with the night in a heavy downpour--had eased into a softer rhythm. The two cloaked figures weaving down the street--drenched to the bone in the earlier torrent--were in no state to notice the change in the weather.

 

One of the men stumbled, and cursed. "You've been putting on weight, Sparhawk," he muttered, and adjusted his arm around his friend. Sparhawk's breath was hot against Kalten's cheek, and smelt strongly of Arcian red.

 

Kalten sighed. It had been his idea to get Sparhawk drunk--he _needed_ the relaxing, Kalten thought--but Sparhawk made for a morose drunk. Kalten had been hoping for a plentiful source of Arcian red, willing wenches, and a brawl (God willing, Kalten thought piously) to round off their night.

 

There had been as much Arcian red as Kalten could have wished for; plentiful wenches (declined by Sparhawk, much to Kalten's dismay); and a nascent brawl had been cut short by Sparhawk's flat, unfriendly glare. Sparhawk was still as miserable now as he had been when they'd set out, and Kalten was at a loss as to what to do with his friend.

 

They had been friends for a long time, and Kalten was comfortable with the shape their friendship had taken: good-natured mockery, sparring, and the utmost certainty of having someone trustworthy to guard your back. Kalten would have happily run-through any of Sparhawk's enemies, if asked; but he suspected that skewering King Aldreas would prove a fleeting solution--if that.

 

It felt as if every time he turned around, something new was going wrong. Things weren't _right,_ and hadn't been in a long while, but Kalten didn't know what to do to fix them. He knew there were people--Pandions, even--who envied Sparhawk his hereditary position as King's Champion. Kalten never had. He hated politics.

 

A scream shattered the silence, quickly followed by a woman's raucous laughter. "I hope they're having more fun than I am," Kalten muttered, sourly. He hated feeling helpless, and thinking of court politics left him feeling as useless as a babe on a battlefield.

 

The sudden noise had caught Sparhawk's attention. He lifted his head, and blinked at Kalten blearily. "Is everything. . . ?" Sparhawk slurred, already trying to fight his way towards sobriety should law and sword be needed.

 

Kalten didn't release his hold on Sparhawk. "Everything is fine," Kalten assured him. He shook his head, and blinked away the raindrops caught in his lashes. "You take life too seriously, Sparhawk."

 

Sparhawk grunted, unamused. "You don't take it seriously enough, Kalten."

 

Sparhawk's head was falling forward again. Kalten's grin went unnoticed. "That's what I have you for, though. You take life seriously enough for the both of us."

 

Sparhawk didn't answer.

 

Vanion was waiting for them when they finally arrived at the chapterhouse. The sun was hardly more than a faint smudge in the distance, and Kalten was suddenly, painfully aware of the long hours he had spent awake that night--and Vanion had always been quicker to chide than offer pity to his suffering, drunken Pandions.

 

Vanion's lips were thin. "Sparhawk--"

 

Kalten adjusted his hold on his friend, trying to help Sparhawk straighten up. Sparhawk ignored all efforts to come to his aid, and continued to wheeze drunkenly--each breath sounding tortured through his crooked nose. "It's my fault, sir," Kalten interjected, "I asked Sparhawk to--"

 

"Kalten," Vanion said, his voice a warning. "Kurik," he beckoned to the other man--how long had they been waiting?--"get Sparhawk to bed. As for you, Kalten--"

 

"I promise that this will never happen again, Vanion," Kalten said, with the same earnest expression that Vanion had always been perfectly content to ignore.

 

Vanion went still. He waited until Sparhawk's slumped form had been passed from Kalten's arms to Kurik's before speaking. "Sparhawk hasn't told you, has he?" Vanion said. He sounded very tired.

 

The rain trickling down the back of Kalten's neck was very cold. "What hasn't he told me?"

 

"Sparhawk has been exiled," Vanion said.

 

They had been friends for a very long time, and Kalten had known that something was wrong with Sparhawk. He had _known,_ and he hadn't asked enough questions, or the right questions, and there was little wonder that even wine and women had had little impact upon Sparhawk's sour mood this night.

 

Kalten's stomach turned. He let Vanion lead him in from the rain, though the cold had already long since settled deep into his bones.

 

*

 

Partings were a regular and unavoidable part of any Pandion's life. Since being knighted, Kalten and Sparhawk had spent almost as much time apart as they had together. The Church's influence reached far across the continent, and God's knights were in frequent demand to help maintain that influence.

 

This, though, was a different matter entirely.

 

The morning was grey, and wet (and Kalten had heard that the sun turned the earth to dust in Rendor). Rain tracked down the crooked angle of Sparhawk's nose, but he didn't move to brush aside the droplets. Sparhawk's eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue. Everything was still, and quiet, and Kalten had felt less solemn in the long moments before a battle joined.

 

Kalten reached for Sparhawk's shoulder. He squeezed once, hard, before letting his hand drop back to his side. "I'll see you again, Sparhawk. Soon."

 

Sparhawk's smile was small, and grim. He settled his cloak more securely around his shoulders. "Be well, Kalten," he said.

 

Faran was restless, waiting. He snorted, and tossed his head. Kurik was waiting, too, at a respectful distance from Faran's side. Kurik and Vanion had both known before Kalten, and they'd had their chance to say goodbye and grieve the loss of a friend. Kalten had to make do with this moment, and the promise to himself to knock some sense into the King's addled mind.

 

Kalten smiled, and said, "don't get into more trouble than you can fight your way out of, Sparhawk."

 

Sparhawk snorted. "I should be saying the same to you, Kalten," he said.

 

Kalten looked at his friend, as if vastly insulted. "Sparhawk! I'm in my prime, you know," he protested. "There's not a situation I _can't_ still fight my way out of."

 

The corner of Sparhawk's lips lifted into something approaching a smile. He turned his face upwards--towards the rain and the still dark horizon. "It's time to go," he said.

 

Sparhawk loved his kingdom, and the Church, and his duty to both. It wasn't right that he should be sent away from everything and everyone he cared for at the whim of a king who didn't deserve the title. Maybe there was nothing for Sparhawk to do, but Kalten was still here, and he would not let this rest.

 

"Godspeed," Kalten said.

 

They had been friends for a long time, and Sparhawk knew better than to get himself killed while Kalten wasn't there to watch his back. Sparhawk could be trusted to keep himself alive, and Kalten would make sure that the kingdom he came back to was better than the one he had left.

 

Kalten watched as Sparhawk grew smaller, and smaller, and finally disappeared from view. Kalten squared his shoulders and turned his eyes back towards the present.

 

There was work to be done.


End file.
